If You Want Something Done
by TheValentineEffect
Summary: Months before Resident Evil 5, a mysterious young girl finds Chris Redfield outside a bar in Chicago and entices him to come with her with the notion that his ex-partner, Jill Valentine, is still alive.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

There was only one thing that Chris Redfield hated more than Albert Wesker: waiting in line. There was _that, _then doubled by the fact that this particular line was leading to an airplane that may or may not take him to one Ms. Valentine, his seemingly deceased partner in the Arklay Mountains. So here he was, standing in line next to 16-year-old Scarlet Adams, who apparently knew exactly where Jill was and had predicted what was going to happen within the next few months. Chris had nothing else on his plate, except maybe another nightly trip to the bar and a call to his sister, so he had chosen to tag along as requested.

His past two years had mainly consisted of alcohol and Late Payment notices, and this ticket out of town woke him up considerably, tempting a recalculation of his time spent as of late. As they moved further in line, Chris started to notice the dignified, hygienic appearance of the other to-be-passengers, and suddenly he became more conscious of his scruffy stubble beard, as well as the yellow stains on his neglected clothing. He must have looked like a drunken haggard to everyone else in the room, yet Scarlet seemed to not even notice his less-than-poor condition. In fact, she had seemed like she already knew that he would be this way.

Each time in the car ride to the airport that Chris had tried to ask Scarlet where she had come from or how she had even known who he was, she told him that there wasn't any time for questions and he should just focus on the road instead. So he just went along with her plans, whatever they were exactly, she'd been almost excruciatingly vague in describing their impending venture. As he stood, it dawned on Chris that he didn't even know where the plane was heading to, which seemed silly now, considering all the screens Scarlet had been checking on their way to the correct terminal.

"Have you ever been to Italy, Chris?" Scarlet asked, looking up at him through her too-large sunglasses, making her expression indecipherable. The thought of mind-reading came to Chris, but he shook it off, knowing the idea was silly. Maybe she just _knew_ him somehow; it had been seemingly so thus far, but _how_?

"No, but my sister, Claire, has always wanted to go there," he replied monotonously, attempting still to read the young girl in front of him. In turn, she offered a small smile, and then faced forward again. They both took one step in line and stopped for the twentieth time. Scarlet sighed.

"How's Claire these days, Chris? Oh, and Leon?" she asked happily, as if reminiscing about old times. _That's it! _Chris thought. _She knows me through my sister… but that still doesn't explain this trip or what she claims to know about Jill._ He shrugged lazily and let out a grunt before replying.

"Claire's happy as ever; she and Leon are dating now." It was hardly the first time Chris had told this to someone, yet chills still ran down his spine as harshly as they had when he first heard the news. His first reaction was to find Leon and scare him into a coma so he wouldn't be physically _able_ to date Claire. On a second thought, though, Chris realized this may have been a somewhat rash conclusion to his dilemma, but he'd always been a protective older brother, so what was he to do?

Leon had a bit of a reputation of being a lady's man. Apparently, in his two years of college, he had dated roughly 24 different women, leaving all of them with various tales of heartbreak and remorse. Yet, Leon and Claire had survived Raccoon City together, and had become best friends before the notion of romance had ever stumbled its way into their relationship. These facts alone are what kept Chris from tearing Leon's hair out. Well, there was that and the fact that he'd have to deal with Claire afterward, which was not a pretty sight to imagine. Chris had raised his sister right, though, and he knew she'd be fine out in the real world on her own.

"Well it's about time," Scarlet responded finally, catching Chris off guard and throwing him off of his train of thought. "I thought those two would never have the guts to start going out." She looked up at Chris and pushed her sunglasses off her face onto her head, revealing a pair of chocolate brown eyes which held a somewhat annoyed expression. Her eyes matched her high ponytail in color, but definitely not intensity. Despite their hue being of a dull nature, somehow they pierced Chris's gaze like a dagger, reading him like an open book.

It took Chris nearly a minute to break the stare they were holding, and he noticed Scarlet was blushing slightly when he faced forward. She looked flustered for a moment then re-obtained her previous cool stature. Thinking, Chris shifted his weight anxiously. The pair was almost to the front of the line, and his nerves were nearly peaked. Small amounts of sweat began to pool in Chris's palms, and he wiped them on his pants. _What if Scarlet was telling the truth? Was this plane actually heading to wherever Jill was? What would he do if she was alive?_

"Hey," Scarlet spoke to him quietly, looking up at him with a sweet smile playing across her lips. "You want to talk about something? It might help your nerves." Chris thought over it for a moment, deciding now was as good a time as any to get some answers.

"Yeah, let's talk about you," he told Scarlet quickly, and immediately her shoulders tensed and her brow furrowed. She looked away from him suddenly, pretending to search the crowd for an invisible target. After a short moment and another place up in line, she turned back to him boasting an unexpected smirk and a glint in her eyes.

"Alright, Redfield, shoot." Chris chuckled at her response almost nervously; her sudden confidence had caught him off guard.

"Last name?" he inquired, taking a safe, trivial route at first.

"Adams."

"Uh, age?"

"Sixteen."

"Do you know my sister?" he tried, testing his boundaries.

"Yes, but she doesn't know me," she replied mysteriously, offering no change of tone nor an accompanying expression. Her answer had been entirely specific, yet so absolutely vague. Chris grimaced for a moment, and then smiled. In that moment, Scarlet reminded Chris of his sister. Once when Claire had sneaked out in the middle of the night to meet her high school boyfriend without Chris's permission, she had acted nearly exactly the same when Chris had interrogated her the next morning. One word answers, vague or cryptic responses. It was how they worked, Chris guessed while unconsciously chewing on his cheek inside his mouth.

Finally, the pair was at the front of the line. Scarlet stepped briskly in front of Chris and handed the attendant her and Chris's tickets. The blonde woman at the counter raised her eyebrow in question, but Scarlet ignored her curiosity and continued into the tunnel-like bridge onto the plane, Chris close behind her. When they reached the interior of the plane, which was considerably cooler and fresh compared to the terminal, instead of being led right like the majority of the passengers, the attendants directed them left, toward the front of the plane.

They were flying First Class.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The plane's ascent had been surprisingly smooth; it had reminded Chris of how tired he was, how tired he'd _been_ since Scarlet had forced him to wake up and drive them to the airport previously that day.

Chris had only met this girl (who was now sitting next to him and silently sipping an Arnold Palmer and observing the cities below) yesterday afternoon in the midst of a thunderstorm.

Rain had been pouring heavily from the ominous clouds hanging over Chicago that day, and Chris was sitting inebriated outside a small Irish pub, shivering in the freezing weather.

Memories and remorseful thoughts of Jill and her death years ago had flooded Chris's mind, and he'd chosen to stir in it rather than make himself feel better. It was in this stupor that Scarlet had found Chris sitting pale and clammy on the sidewalk. After several unsuccessful attempts, she finally managed to coax Chris to his feet and into the cab she had hired to help her find the bar; both she and Chris were soaked by that point.

Once the man had settled into the backseat, which was the only thing more cushioned than a barstool he'd been on in weeks, Chris had passed out cold. Only about twenty minutes later, though it felt like an hour, Chris woke up, still in the cab, half-believing he was dreaming. His doubt, of course, came from the fact that these days, his dreams were more like nightmares that usually featured one of the several comrades he'd lost since S.T.A.R.S. There wasn't usually this much detail, or light, or… _pine? _The scent of a car freshener sneaked into Chris's nostrils but was only met with disgust from his intoxicated mind.

_How did it all come to this?_ Chris thought groggily, stepping out of the cab. The sun was shining too brightly and pierced Chris's eyes, breaking his concentration on balancing. He was already beginning to sober up, and a headache threatened imminent pain from the back of his head. A thin, soft arm hooked itself around Chris's left elbow and led him into the more comfortable, dim interior of an extravagant hotel.

Being guided through the hotel was confusing for Chris in that state; however, he didn't struggle, and allowed himself to be taken into an elevator and eventually into a large room on the top floor. All the movement and various lighting had caused his stomach to turn over, and bile began to crawl up his throat. His helper seemed to sense this and took him straight into a grandiose black tile bathroom, then gently onto the floor before a pristine white Toto.

Suddenly, Chris felt his jacket being stripped off of him, and became significantly more aware of how sweaty he'd become from the nausea. The bathroom lights dimmed, lessening his oncoming migraine. A small, feminine hand rested itself on Chris's damp shoulder. It was a small comfort, a sweet notion in the hell Chris had been in for the last two years. Breaking the condolence, all at once, Chris's stomach began to heave, and he coughed up bile and alcohol and bar snacks, leaving a sick, acidic smell in the air.

As he continued his fit, the hand clenched his shoulder in concern. His stomach was finally empty, and Chris's throat burned from the muscle spasms and the stomach fluids. He stood up and flushed the toilet, allowing the hand to slide off of him. He heard footsteps away from him which were quickly drowned out by the sound of running water. When he turned around, noticing for the first time the luxury of the space he was in, Scarlet handed him a wet hand cloth. He wiped off his face and spit into it, trying to rid himself of the vile taste infesting his mouth.

"Feeling better, Chris?" the girl asked him softly, as if not trying to encourage his now noticeably-intense migraine.

"Yeah, thanks." Chris looked at the sixteen-year-old girl in front of himself with an inquisitive expression, hoping that she would offer him some mercy and decide to explain herself now that he was in this somewhat vulnerable position. Disappointingly, Scarlet merely smiled at him and walked into the main part of their hotel room. She had left the door slightly open, and Chris observed her through the small crack.

Hands running over dark-colored leather, finding their way into a small pocket, then pulling out a small picture, Scarlet moved swiftly, but with calculated movements. She appeared to be thinking or mulling over something somewhat important; her eyes held a distant emotion, one that didn't exist in the current time she was in. It was something that sparked a small curiosity in Chris, and at that moment, he wished for mind-reading powers.

Scarlet frowned slightly at the picture and her gaze retained its original intensity, focusing on the small portrait in front of her. Just then, Chris had recalled he'd been keeping a picture that size of Jill and himself in S.T.A.R.S. just before Arklay Mountain. He'd lost the photo, and as he recognized the jacket on Scarlet's lap as his own, Chris realized it must have been the picture, but that just created a mystification in him about Scarlet's melancholy emotion that she carried when looking at it.

Snapping back to the present, Chris reached his hand into the pocket of his jacket again, revealing the very same photo. Scarlet was still distracted with the ground below the plane and didn't notice at the time what Chris held in his hand, but she carried that same far-flung stare that she had in the hotel, which left Chris to his own devices. He ordered a Sprite from the flight attendant and a few moments later was sipping on it, bored. This was going to be a long flight.


End file.
